Page 1 of Ground Truth

Chapter 1

Switzerland

The modified microlight’s electric engine purred in the early-evening darkness. Michael Flint adjusted its direction as the wind gusted, keeping the tiny craft stable and low to the ground. At twelve thousand feet, the Alpine weather was always a problem, tonight more than most. But he had a schedule, and he would stick to it.

The view as he crossed the snow-covered terrain was a vista that inspired millions of advertising dollars. The Alps stretched for hundreds of miles on either side, peak upon peak, with exposed rock where the gradient was steeper than snow could cover.

The machine was perfect for his needs. It was lightweight, even with the small electric motor and batteries. A single spar allowed him to fold the wings. He could slide in and out of the harness with ease and jettison the whole assembly with a single safety release.

Flint eased the craft rightward and up.

Golden light spilled from the Swiss municipality of Naters a few miles to the south, and from myriad clusters of homes across the Nesthorn peak, his destination.

Despite the photo-worthy homes, the cherry on the top was the Château Loggerhorn, a mile ahead. Imposing, even from a distance. Built in the 1500s, Loggerhorn had stood empty through much of the twentieth century. The current owner, Ernst Hedinger—one of the wealthiest men in the world—had purchased and updated Loggerhorn.

The modifications were completed a month earlier. Large steel and glass balconies looked down over a one-hundred-foot sheer drop. LED lighting outlined the structure and upward pointing lights highlighted the centuries-old stone.

Fortunately, the architect had been so pleased with his work, he’d described it and published detailed drawings in the European edition of theArchitectural Review. Flint had memorized every detail.

One of those details was the name of the contractor.

Flint had worked his way down the chain until he’d found carpenters and stonemasons who’d worked on the renovation. For a hefty fee, they’d been willing to share vital and unusual elements of the construction.

A helicopter sat on a pad to the rear of the property, and a private cable car crawled its way up from a small village to the south. In fickle mountain weather, the cable car provided a second option for transport. The roads were impassable in winter.

Tonight, riders in the cable car looked out the windows, admiring the view. Their party clothes looked incongruously flimsy for the mountains. But the billionaire host ensured that they never suffered from exposure to the elements.

Flint adjusted his flightpath, aiming for an outcrop of trees a couple of hundred feet below the château. He wore several layers of clothing to ward off the worst of the wind and subzero temperatures. Concealing all the tools he needed for the evening had also required extra padding. The clothes made certain movements tricky.

The cable car reached the château and disappeared under a canopy. The riders would disembark and climb a series of steps to an entrance into the château. Flint had spent the previous two days examining the château from all angles through high-powered binoculars. He knew those steps would be the only way in tonight.

The now unoccupied car set off downhill to collect another batch of partygoers.

He slowed the microlight as he reached the trees, finally touching the ground and skimming over the snow for a few yards before coming to a halt. He stopped the engine and listened. The faint clank of cables in the distance was the only sound he heard in the crisp evening air.

He’d spied a narrow, winding pathway through the trees. The path was likely created by skiers seeking a few extra thrills on the descent.

Nearby, he found a spot he had scoped out the day before. He stowed the microlight there and unclipped a waterproof bag.

He unzipped his snowsuit and tucked the microlight’s key into the pocket of his dinner jacket.

Tonight’s operation was absolutely necessary because this party was his only chance to breach the château’s security short of a full-scale assault by the Marine Corps. Which the Pentagon wasn’t likely to authorize. He grinned briefly and then put his head back in the game.

His watch showed 8:43. He had an hour and two minutes. Plenty of time, if all unfolded according to plan.

He started uphill, aiming for a line of trees that led around an outcrop of rock to the side of the building. His white snowsuit blended in with the conditions as well as he could hope for, but anyone with infrared goggles would pick him out instantly. He hoped Hedinger was merely safety conscious and not paranoid.

Flint reached the end of the trees without seeing any movement at the château’s windows and balconies. He unzipped his snowsuit and breathed in the cold air. He couldn’t gate-crash a billionaire’s party sweating like a marathon runner.

A few minutes later, the cable car returned. It wasn’t the ordinary, lightweight affair used by ski resorts the world over. The windows were double-glazed, and the interior had been created by an ex-Bentley designer. The riders sat in pairs, each pair in their own leather-appointed cocoon. Outside, the whole car was painted in the deepest blue and outlined in gold, all made visible by dramatic lighting.

All of which meant the cable car was obviously visible to even the most casual observer.

Flint moved to the side of the building and waited at the corner. The cable car passed, slowing as it entered the canopy. He peeled off his snowsuit, stepped around the side of the building, and vaulted a chain barrier. He kicked off his snow boots, donned a pair of dress shoes, and discarded his bag.

In front of him, fifty steps led up to the cable car stop. His reconnaissance the day before had taught him the cable car operator wouldn’t be able to see far over the car once it was docked at the château. Which meant he was out of the operator’s sight line.

Flint took the steps two at a time. Above him, the cable car doors opened, and passengers stepped out. Overhead heaters pushed back the frigid air. He slowed his pace, smiled at the last of the riders, mingled with the group, and followed them up the final couple of dozen steps to the entrance door.

---